


Envy for the solid ground

by Builder



Series: Canon ships and all that jazz [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fever, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, Vomiting, i am trash, kind of, that's really all there is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 16:09:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15295218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Builder/pseuds/Builder
Summary: Everyone has to call in sick to work sometimes.





	Envy for the solid ground

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr @builder051
> 
> I just came up with the best headcaonon ever: Clint and Laura have some fun times roleplaying in the bedroom, and Laura’s definitely the commanding officer. 
> 
> Sorry. That has very little to do with this fic. I'm almost a month on testosterone, and my brain is now permanently in the gutter.

The clock had barely ticked past midnight when Clint sat bolt upright in bed, his chest heaving.  Two seconds of disoriented breathing had ensued before he’d come to his senses and sprinted for the bathroom.  Laura had sleepily followed him and sat on the bath mat for a while, patting his shoulder and listening to him retch.  

At two in the morning, Clint had told her to go back to bed.  “God, I’m sorry,” he’d muttered, dragging a wad of toilet paper across his lips.  He fought a hiccup, then poised himself over the toilet as warm, bitter saliva flowed over his tongue. 

“Come lie down,” Laura had tempted him.  “You can’t be too comfortable here.”

“Don’t think I’m done.”  Clint retched.  

“Do you want to try some water, or…?”  Laura broke off with a yawn.

“Just go back to bed, honey.  I’ll be ok when you wake up.”

***

It turns out to be a lie.  Sunlight streams through the small bathroom window, and Clint’s still on his knees in front of the commode.  He’d dozed on and off, but despite the grittiness at the corners of his eyes, he’s anything but rested.  His stomach is still in knots, and squeaky hiccups keep bursting from his throat, sealing his ability to swallow down the nausea.

Clint hears Laura roll over in bed, and her tired voice carries into the ensuite.  “You still in there, babe?”

“Ugh,” Clint groans.  

“God, what time is it?”  Laura’s footsteps pad across the bedroom.  “You’ve got it bad, huh?”

“I’ve got to be empty,” Clint groans.  “I don’t know why I can’t stop–” He hiccups, which invites up a dribble of sour bile.  Clint spits and rests his aching head in his hands, his breath echoing against the toilet bowl.  

“You’re probably all dehydrated now,” Laura murmurs, squatting at Clint’s shoulder and laying a hand over the back of his neck.  “Yeah, you’re warm, too.”

“Go figure.”

“You think you can hold down a few sips of water?  Maybe some Gatorade?” Laura asks.

“Eh.”  Clint shrugs, trying to blink away a sudden spike of vertigo.

“I’m gonna get you some,” Laura says, getting to her feet.  “This has gone on way too long.”

“Hm.”  Clint doesn’t feel the need to tell her whatever liquids he swallows are just going to come right back up.  “Thanks, honey.”

As soon as Laura gets to her feet, Clint’s phone begins to ring from the bedroom.

“Aw, shit,” Clint mutters.

“Don’t worry about it,” Laura tells him.

“No, that ringtone…that’s work…”  Clint swallows convulsively as the urge to heave rises again.

“You’re not thinking of going in?  Not like this…”

“God, no.”  Clint’s shoulders hunch as he coughs up a mouthful of mucous.  “Just…honey…can you…?”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it.”  Laura runs her hand through Clint’s sweaty hair, then jogs back to the bedside table.

“Hello?”  Clint hears her answer the call.  “Yeah, it’s Laura.  Sorry, Nick. Clint can’t come to the phone right now.  He’s hugging the toilet.”

“Geez,” Clint breathes, cringing.  

“I’ll let you know when he’s feeling better, but the only mission we’re on today is getting some fluids into him.”  There’s a beat of silence, then Laura laughs.  “That’s for sure.  Catch you later, Nick.  Bye.”

“Did you really have to tell him that?” Clint asks when Laura reappears at his side.

“It’s a good excuse,” Laura offers.  

“I guess.”  He looks up at his wife, but a hiccup escapes Clint’s lips, and he turns back to the toilet bowl.

“I’m sorry you’re feeling so rough.”

“Nothing you can do about it,” Clint forces out before he vomits, though there’s nothing to show this time but spit and air.

“Well,” Laura whispers, patting him on the back.  “I am pretty serious about my mission.  Think you can take care of yourself for a minute while I grab some Gatorade?  Then maybe we can get you settled in bed before the little monsters wake up.”

Clint looks doubtfully into the toilet, then reaches up to flush.  “I’ll give it my best.”

“That’s the spirit, agent.”  Laura grins and squeezes Clint’s shoulder before padding down the hall.


End file.
